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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26126791">I completely fucking hate you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraZorEl/pseuds/ClaraZorEl'>ClaraZorEl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But consequently also, Can't spell necromantic without romantic, Cellphones and magic, F/F, Gay disaster, Griddlehark, In the purest sense of the term, Insult as a mean of flirting, Swords and dancing, They go to prom for some reason, They just have cellphones, This story is gay and it's a disaster, and</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:55:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,526</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26126791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraZorEl/pseuds/ClaraZorEl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the coming weeks, Harrowhark learns an unfortunate great deal about Gideon Nav. The kind of porn she likes, the number of bread rolls she can fit into her mouth at once, that she always leans too heavily on her left leg when she fights but can do fifty-seven push-ups in a row without stopping, that her biceps rates 11/10 on the scale of good biceps, that her laugh rumbles like an army of skeletons, and most importantly, that she can’t fucking stand her. Gideon Nav is so grating that Harrow has no doubt she will be her undoing.</p><p>OR</p><p>Harrowhark Nonagesimus has been invited to Canaan University's ball. But to successfully represent her house, she needs a cavalier, and unfortunately, her only option is her least favourite barista from her least favourite coffee shop.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>211</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I completely fucking hate you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoiChibi/gifts">SoiChibi</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>DISCLAIMER : This is a work of fanfiction. It is not intended to infringe on any rights by and of the companies and/or individuals involved in the production of any series mentioned here. The idea however is mine, and mine only.</p><p>I had one half of an idea when I was sleep deprived and somehow it turned into this. Not sure what it is but I had fun writing it ! As a bit of context, Canaan House is a university, necromancy is a thing but they also have phones. Gideon successfully ran away when she was still a toddler.</p><p>I struggled for much too long with the layout so at this point I just don't care.</p><p> </p><p>  <b>Sort of spoilery for some events of <i>Gideon the Ninth</i> and <i>Harrow the Ninth</i></b></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>	Harrow wants to die. Not in the casual way she's always wanted to die, but in a more immediate -King Undying get me out of my fucking misery- sort of way. </p>
  <p>	Her favourite coffee shop is closed and the other one is all the way across Canaan University and of course Dominicus is unforgiving today and she's positively cooking in her black over-cloak. </p>
  <p>	Her phone buzzes in her pocket and she seriously considers burying it in regenerating ash so it’ll get crushed and crushed again for all eternity. Palamedes has been spamming the group chat with self-help memes lately, this endless perplexing flow interrupted only by Ianthe and Corona displaying their latest immature fight in texting form for all of them to see. Camilla just likes everybody's messages and never comments. Harrow can't tell if she's being passive aggressive or if she's somehow worse than her at communication. </p>
  <p>	Sweaty and on the brink of death, she crosses the campus as fast as her thin legs allow ; maybe she should start going to the gym like Camilla suggested the only time she opened her mouth in front of her. Even in this disheveled state, she still scares her classmates enough for them to part in front of her but it’s not nearly enough to balance the disappointment of Crux Café and its bone construct staff being out of commission for the day. It’s not even that she enjoys the coffee there that much, truthfully, she hates coffee with all her might ; but she also hates sleeping so a compromise had to be found and today the compromise consists of standing in line in the sickly sweet Magnus the Fifth Coffee and Tea House (we have fresh pancakes and muffins !) surrounded by dozens of students who think dressing in anything other than black is somehow acceptable. Harrowhark might be sweating to death but at least her aesthetic is on point ; or that’s what Corona usually says when Ianthe allows her to speak, which is never.</p>
  <p>	The line is long, and also unmoving due to the unacceptable fact that the sole barista chats up everything that’s got both a cleavage and a heartbeat. Harrow is starting to get angsty, which is also unacceptable and she thanks the Kindly Prince of Death profusely when she finds in her pocket a couple of phalanges to fidget with. The line moves up a little and fills behind her immediately, trapping her between multiple pairs of necromancers and cavaliers. Harrow doesn’t have a cavalier, not since Ortus left her service to go study poetry in Rhodes ; but unlike all these half assed necromancers, she doesn’t need one. </p>
  <p>	The line moves up again. Two ghastly teens order the single most disgusting hot chocolate that Harrow has ever seen and then it’s her turn. "As many espresso shots as you can fit into your tallest cup," she orders quickly, fishing in her pocket for some interplanetary currency amongst all the teeth she keeps there. "Please," she adds as an after thought. </p>
  <p>	"Dear God !" the barista exclaims. "Just do cocaine !"</p>
  <p>	"I don’t recall asking for your advice," Harrowhark drawls, slowly, and admittedly dramatically, raising her head to stare the barista dead in the eye. </p>
  <p>	Her brain grinds to a halt. Before her stands a tall ginger monstrosity with a spatter of freckles over more exposed skin that she’s seen in her entire life. Her biceps are the size of Harrow’s head and her eyes are hidden behind reflective and antic aviator sunglasses. </p>
  <p>	She’s atrocious. And the hottest girl Harrowhark Nonagesimus has ever laid her eyes on. At least she would have been if she’d never open her mouth. </p>
  <p>	The barista, Gideon Nav, the name tag conveniently placed over her right breast supplies, raises two hands in an uncouth and unnecessary -chill out- gesture and asks, "what’s your name ?" Harrow really considers unleashing the wrath of the Ninth on her but she adds, entirely unfazed, "so I can put it on the cup Penumbral Lady. You’re not my type."</p>
  <p>	Harrow doesn’t know if she oughts to be offended by that statement but it certainly stings and she’s never been as glad for the sacramental face paint hiding her beet red skin. "Harrowhark Nonagesimus," she elects to say instead in her most sepulchral tone.</p>
  <p>	The barista freezes comically, pen halfway to a cardboard cup. "Yeah there’s no way I’m spelling that. Imma call you Harry."</p>
  <p>	"Don’t you fucking dare."</p>
  <p>	Unperturbed, Gideon Nav scribbles something on the cup then turns around and starts yelling at the top of her lungs. "Magnus ! Oi ! Magnus ! How much for thirteen espresso shots ?!"</p>
  <p>	A beat passes during which Harrow wonders if she’s subsequently gone deaf before a man in a brown apron struts out of the kitchen with a frustratingly kind smile plastered on his face. "Gideon," he scolds lightly, "Gideon. No yelling in front of the customers. And you left the pancake griddle on again." He turns to survey the room, takes note of Harrow's presence and then bows so deeply his face almost touches the ground. "Reverent Daughter, we are thankful that you graced our humble abode with your presence. Abigail speaks highly of you."</p>
  <p>	Harrow reiterates her wish to die. Magnus the Fifth. Of course this place would be owned by the cavalier of her overbearing history teacher. She nods sharply to acknowledge his presence but doesn't say anything ; with a bit of luck, he’ll think she’s suddenly taken a vow of silence.</p>
  <p>	 "This one is on the house," Magnus the Fifth says brightly, taking the cup out of Gideon’s hands. "Would you like anything else with that ? Muffins ?" Harrow shakes her head, no. "Gideon makes excellent pancakes when she doesn’t burn them," he adds with a conspiratorially chuckle. Harrow shakes her head again, no way in hell she’ll eat anything that has been cooked by this orange deformity.</p>
  <p>	Magnus gently guides Gideon towards another customer and things could stop here but they don't, as Harrow clearly has been cursed on nine generations. "See you around sugar lips," Nav says with a mock salute and an awful wink.</p>
  <p>	"Fat chance Griddle," Harrow murmurs as venomously as she can. "Fat chance."</p>
  <p>	The next day, Harrow is back in Magnus the Fifth’s coffee shop.</p>
  <p>	After that, it becomes an unfortunately recurring occurrence as apparently some damnable first year fucked up their homework enough to take out the entire skeletons staff of Crux Café and Canaan University apparently doesn’t have the budget to raise new bone constructs. Harrowhark Nonagesimus is appealed no one asked for her help and learns to hate Gideon Nav with every bone in her body and a little bit more.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>💀</p>
</div><div>
  <p>	"Thirteen shots of espresso for my Bone Empress !" Griddle shouts as soon as Harrow steps into the coffee shop. She's got a new dumb sobriquet for her every fucking day.</p>
  <p>	Harrow doesn’t bother replying. She slaps a silver coin on the counter, snatches the cup away and makes her way to the farthest, darkest corner of the shop. She hates it here. </p>
  <p>	Her phone is buzzing in her pocket. To be fair, it's always buzzing ; Ianthe always has something of the utmost importance to share and Harrow has yet to figure out how to turn the vibrations off. Griddle looks like she'd know how to operate a phone, but Harrow would sooner commit blasphemy than ask for her help.</p>
  <p>	She takes a sip of the bitter dark coffee, God it’s really fucking disgusting, then starts on the humongous task of unearthing her phone from whichever pocket she dropped it in earlier. That's how she knows she still has some dignity left ; if she didn’t, she'd put it in a holster like Camilla. In the end, she summons a bone hand to find it and unlock it for her and uses the construct to prop the offensive device on the table before her.</p>
  <p>	The messages come in too fast for her to really be able to catch up. The group chat is alight with discourse about, formal wear ? </p>
</div><i>Palamedes<br/>I need advice on what qualify as proper formal wear ?<br/>Can Camilla and I both wear suits ?<br/>Or does Canaan University subscribe to a strict outdated gender binary ?<br/>I couldn’t find anything in the library and the invite doesn’t provide anything more.</i><p>
  <i>Ianthe<br/>
Cam would look gorgeous in a dress.<br/>
Me and Corona will be wearing purple of course.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Camilla<br/>
I won’t wear a dress.<br/>
I can’t fight in a dress.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Corona<br/>
There will be no need to fight.<br/>
Ianthe. What if I don’t want to wear purple ?</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Ianthe<br/>
Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you’re wearing purple. We need to match.<br/>
Babs will be wearing purple too. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Camilla<br/>
I’m not wearing a dress.</i>
</p><p>	To say Harrow is flummoxed would be a vast understatement. What in the name of the Emperor’s bones is going on ?</p><p>
  <i>Palamedes<br/>
Hold on. I found Lady Pent. I’ll ask her.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Ianthe<br/>
You mean you stalked Lady Pent.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Camilla<br/>
Semantics.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Corona<br/>
If Camilla is wearing a suit, I might do the same.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Ianthe<br/>
As long as it’s purple.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Corona<br/>
Or maybe I won’t.<br/>
I’d be too dashing and it’d be a shame if I were to outshine you.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Ianthe<br/>
Like you could.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Palamedes<br/>
So Lady Pent said anything that qualifies as formal wear in our house is fine.<br/>
The only rule is that we have to bring our cavalier.<br/>
Her exact words were : "The Warden’s Hand can wear anything that qualifies as formal wear in the Sixth House as long as she brings her rapier."<br/>
So Cam, you don’t have to wear a dress.</i>
</p><p>	Harrow checks out of the conversation for a moment. Griddle has entered her sightline and is wiping a table much too close to Harrow’s tacit Gideon free perimeter. Her muddy apron hangs low on her hips, covering part of tactical threadbare black trousers that somehow seem to have been painted on her. She's not wearing her usual tank top today, but a long sleeve black shirt that has been rolled up over her elbows to expose tense and lean forearms. Gideon catches her eyes, winks like it’s somehow not the worst thing someone can do and leans unnaturally far over the table to wipe an inexistent stain. </p><p>	Harrow's phone is suddenly the most fascinating object that's ever been in her possession and she wonders quite seriously if it’s too late in her education to switch schools. Maybe she could enlist in the Cohort. Griddle looks like the Cohort type though, and she doesn’t want to risk it.</p><p>
  <i></i></p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <i>Harrow<br/>
Might someone enlighten me as to what is happening ? </i>
  </p>
</div><i>Ianthe<br/>The ball Harry !</i>
<p></p><div>
  <p> <i>Harrow<br/>
Don’t fucking call me that.<br/>
What ball ?</i></p>
</div><p>
  <i>Ianthe<br/>
Seriously Harry do you even read your emails ?</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Palamedes<br/>
Canaan University is holding a necromancers and cavaliers ball to celebrate the renewed friendship between the houses. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Ianthe<br/>
You’ll need a cavalier.</i>
</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>Harrowhark can almost see Ianthe’s vicious little smile through her phone ; the Ninth House does not have a cavalier. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>💀</p>
</div><div>
  <p>	This is it, this is the Ninth House's undoing. Whatever Harrow does now, there is nowhere for things to go but downhill. The Reverend Daughter cannot not go to Canaan University’s ball ; and the Reverend Daughter cannot go to Canaan University’s ball without a cavalier. She might has well pack her ten identical black robes, her human leather bound journals and her ossuaries and go back home to live a life of silence among elderly nuns until her only prospect is to roll away the rock and be obliterated by what lies behind.</p>
  <p>	As of yet she's only had one idea to save her house from dishonour and even she can admit it's a bad idea. If she'd pay more than minimal attention in flesh necromancy class, maybe, but given the current state of her studies, she knows she can't dress a bone construct with convincing fat. After a full myriad of hardship, Harrowhark Nonagesimus, 5 feet and 99 pounds, will be the downfall of the Black Vestals. She’s a fucking disgrace.</p>
  <p>	Even Griddle with her pea sized brain seems to have picked up that today isn't a good day and didn't salute her with her usual epithet. Weirdly, in the midst of everything, this might be what bothers Harrow the most. She was looking forward to knowing what Gideon Nav could have come up with after the fairly interesting "Bone Empress".</p>
  <p>	"Excuse me Ma’am," the voice she both wants to hear and not hear says, "but you can’t cocoon yourself in bone here. This is a public place."</p>
  <p>	Harrow’s head snaps up so fast she can feel her vertebrae cracking. She shuffles her feet to get rid of the thine layer of bone that had started to protectively crawl over her and fixes Gideon with the hardest glare she can muster right now. "Did you seriously just call me 'Ma’am' ?"</p>
  <p>	Griddle stares back at her with an intensity Harrow isn’t sure she can handle. She’s not wearing her sunglasses today, and her eyes are liquid gold. "Whatever Gloom Mistress. There are people looking for you and I wanted to check if it was okay to send them your way."</p>
  <p>	 This is surprisingly caring, coming from Griddle, and Harrow has to focus very hard to keep her mouth from gapping open. </p>
  <p>	"Since you look like a fucking necromantic ticking bomb and I don’t wanna deal with the clean up." </p>
  <p>	Yep, there it is, Gideon Nav is still an absolute ass and the world can resume its course. </p>
  <p>	"Shut your fucking mouth Griddle. You’re lowering the IQ of the whole planet."</p>
  <p>	Gideon’s only answer is a rude gesture before she slips her sunglasses back on and stalks back to the counter. Harrow's eyes follow her because there isn't much else to look at and at the counter, she finds the Tridentarii. Gideon joins them and though Coronabeth's cleavage is doing most of the talking, she thinks she hears the kind words "night bitch" before the infernal twins make their way to her.</p>
  <p>	"So this is where you’re hiding," Ianthe drawls, plopping down much too close to her for Harrow’s comfort. "Isn't it a bit, too lively for you ?"</p>
  <p>	The words on the tip of Harrowhark’s tongue fall heavily on the side of "shut the fuck up you fucking nightmare," but Corona interrupts her before she can even start talking.</p>
  <p>	"She is gorgeous," she says in that little aristocratic tone Harrow can't stand. "Do you know if she's single ?"</p>
  <p>	"How would I know that ?" Harrow spits. "I'm not her fucking keeper."</p>
  <p>	"Aren't you ?" Ianthe asks insidiously, picking at something under her fingernails. "Nav is a niner name."</p>
  <p>	Nav is a niner name and the realisation downs on Harrow like a bucket of cold water. If Gideon Nav is her only option then the Ninth House's undoing is going to come a bit ahead of schedule.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>💀</p>
</div><div>
  <p>	It takes a full week of Harrow spiralling into discontentment and mild panic for her to accept that she has no other choice but to talk to Gideon Nav. During this week, she avoids the coffee shop at all cost and realises, after countless hours of work, that even if she did manage to raise a convincing flesh construct, she’d still lack the skills to animate it in a way that makes it remotely appear human. Sleep deprived and teetering on the edge of insanity, though she knows some would argue she's fallen head first into madness long ago, she briefly considers coaxing a soul back into a body and using that as her cavalier but the potentialities for disaster are too high for her to entertain the thought for longer than it takes to get it out of her head.</p>
  <p>	She storms Magnus the Fifth Coffee and Tea House (we have fresh pancakes and muffins !) right at the end of Griddle’s shift late one night, not that she personally knows when Griddle’s shift ends, and corners her behind the counter with her sharpest death glare.</p>
  <p>	"Evening Penumbral Lady, how can I be of service ?" Griddle asks, wiping her hands on her apron with barely a glance in her direction.</p>
  <p>	"You’ve already used that one," Harrow snarls, "and shut your disgusting mouth, I need a favour."</p>
  <p>	Gideon Nav ducks under the counter and resurfaces a moment later with what Harrow has come to recognise as the tallest available cup. "You remember all these shitty names ?" She snorts disgracefully then abruptly catches up on the rest. "Wait. You need a favour ? What makes you think I’d do anything for you ?"</p>
  <p>	"You’re Ninth," Harrow says blandly. The statement hangs in the air between them for a moment, Gideon Nav looking completely bewildered and frankly stupid. "Nav is a niner name and you wear all black," Harrow adds, mildly irked that she has to explain herself. </p>
  <p>	Gideon stares at her for a second, shrugs, and infuriatingly returns to her coffee making. "I like the aesthetic. And I ran away when I was four. I’m not sure I technically still qualifies as Ninth."</p>
  <p>	"Oh but you do," Harrowhark says, letting a mean grin stretch on her face. "There are no release records for a Gideon Nav. I checked. You're mine, and I need you to act as cavalier primary during Canaan University’s ball."</p>
  <p>	Griddle shrugs and slides a steaming hot cup of coffee her way. "That’s all ? What it’s in for me ?"</p>
  <p>	Harrow's gut reaction is to point out that she owns Gideon but the more rational part of her brain forces her to make a compromise instead. "What do you want ?"</p>
  <p>	"Release papers. So I can enlist in the Cohort."</p>
  <p>	"If you serve as my cavalier primary, and do absolutely everything I ask of you, I’ll make sure they make you lieutenant."</p>
  <p>	"And you’ll try actual coffee that isn’t thirteen death shots with no water ?"</p>
  <p>	"Captain," Harrow drawls.</p>
  <p>	Gideon Nav hesitates for a short beat then reaches her hand over the counter. "You’ve got yourself a deal," she says, wiggling her eyebrows like it’s not fucking unacceptable, "Night Boss."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>💀</p>
</div><div>
  <p>	Gideon Nav outside of the coffee shop is a sight. Not a sight for sore eyes, just a sight. Harrow spends a perplexingly long moment wondering who allowed her to just walk around like that. Her sorry excuse for clothes have been mostly covered by a shredded black cloak, though it could also be a new fashion trend, and in the daylight, her tactical trousers are more dark grey than anything. She’s still wearing her terrible sunglasses and the outfit has been topped off by a horrible long sword strapped to her back. </p>
  <p>	"This is going to have to go," Harrow says in lieu of a greeting, gesturing broadly towards Gideon’s hulk of a silhouette.</p>
  <p>	"Uh ?"</p>
  <p>	Kind Undying, she’s beyond dumb.</p>
  <p>	"All of it Griddle," Harrow grumbles through gritted teeth. Her patience is already running low and she can feel the beginning of a headache forming behind her eyes. "If you’re going to represent the Ninth House, you can’t walk around looking like that."</p>
  <p>	Gideon stares at her silently and even behind her sunglasses, Harrow can tell she’s not even blinking. Then, and quite surprisingly, she reaches to the clasp of her cloak, undoes it, and lets the fabric pool at her feet. "Well if you wanted to see me naked," she says, wiggling her eyebrows, "all you had to do was ask."</p>
  <p>	Bile rises at the back of Harrowhark’s throat. This is going to be an excruciatingly long day.</p>
  <p>	Her small vengeance comes in the form of Aiglamene, last mostly upright soldier of the Ninth House, who, though someone like Griddle would describe as "old as fuck", is a competent fighter and spends a sizeable portion of the day, teaching Gideon Nav the art of the rapier and repeatedly sending her on her ass. It's only a small comfort, but one that Harrow won't refuse. </p>
  <p>	Unfortunately for Harrow, and, she has to admit, for everyone involved, cavalier training isn't just learning a series of complicated sword moves, which even she has to admit Griddle is relatively good at. No, it's also a questions of manners and it quickly becomes apparent that there isn't a single surviving braincell in Gideon Nav's empty skull. She's nothing but a buff nutshell. Very buff, which Harrowhark is forced to notice because unlike half of the Ninth House, she's not blind ; but completely empty nonetheless.</p>
  <p>	As a rule, Harrowhark Nonagesimus doesn’t ask for help. For this particular task though, she’s forced to admit defeat and by the end of the first week, she’s regretfully called in reinforcements. Said reinforcements come in the form of Palamedes Sextus and Camilla Hect, auto-branded Sixth House nerds ; and this particular study session starts with Griddle diving under a table at the very back of the coffee shop because, "hide me Nighttime Ruler, my ex is here !"</p>
  <p>	Harrow sends two skeletons to drag her out by the skin of her ass, forces her to sit upright across from her and seethes with no patience to hide her displeasure, "behave like an adult Nav."</p>
  <p>	"My ex is here," Griddle repeats which is ridiculous and unnecessary as Harrow is the proud owner of two functioning ears. "Camilla Hect."</p>
  <p>	Harrow takes no prisoners with the glare she sends her way. "I understand why she broke up with you."</p>
  <p>	"I broke up with her," Griddle whispers, attempting to hide behind her cup.</p>
  <p>	"That doesn’t make sense. Camilla the Sixth is a more than adequate partner."</p>
  <p>	"She does spreadsheets for fun," Gideon mumbles under her breath. "Come to think of it, you probably do that too."</p>
  <p>	"That is incorrect," Harrow snaps. "But I do hold a very detailed journal," she concedes a second later, if only to rid her mind off the juxtaposed notion of Griddle’s ex and herself. She's spared more turmoil by Palamedes slamming the thickest book she's ever laid her eyes on right in the middle of the table.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>💀</p>
</div><div>
  <p>	By regular people standards, which is just about everyone she’s encountered at Canaan University up to this point, Harrowhark Nonagesimus’ life has never been easy. She’s grown up in the dark in a literal hole on a remote planet with nuns and a near silent parental unit. She's also, not that everyone is aware of that, two hundred souls stuffed in a mediocre skin suit and therefore a necromantic sin which doesn't exactly bod well for a devout like her. There's a reason she doesn't like sleeping.</p>
  <p>	To Harrowhark Nonagesimus’ own standards however, her life up until now has been absolutely golden. Sure, she doesn’t particularly like herself, and there are sometimes ghosts in her peripheral vision and she can’t stand the sound of other people breathing, but she loves God, loves her house, and is one hell of a necromancer.</p>
  <p>	So if anyone cared to ask, she’d say that up until the very moment she laid eyes on Gideon Nav, her life had been absolutely perfect. Now however, she's considering making the long trip back to the Ninth for the sole purpose of jumping down Drearburh and crashing so violently at the bottom that no one will be able to raise her skeleton. Palamedes finds this concerning, but it’s none of Palamedes' business. </p>
  <p>	The Ninth House prospects are bleak, and Harrow is seriously starting to consider that dishonour wouldn’t be so bad when her only over options are chocking Griddle on her own bones or bashing her own head on the table until her brain leaks out from her nose. They've been meeting everyday during Gideon's break and sometimes after Harrow's class and she can't tell anymore if she's doing it on purpose to get a rise at her or if she's completely and irreversibly daft. She also doesn’t know which one would be worse. Sometimes, when Griddle takes off her hideous sunglasses to rub the bridge of her nose, Harrow thinks she can see a glimpse of intelligence in her eyes ; but more often than not, it's a simple trick of the light.</p>
  <p>	In the coming weeks, Harrowhark learns an unfortunate great deal about Gideon Nav. The kind of porn she likes (Harrow really hopes there’s a parallel universe out there where she’s never had to hear the words "Frontline Titties of the Fifth"), the number of bread rolls she can fit into her mouth at once (five), that she always leans too heavily on her left leg when she fights but can do fifty-seven push-ups in a row without stopping (which Harrow understands is supposed to be impressive), that her biceps rates 11/10 on the scale of good biceps, that her laugh rumbles like an army of skeletons, and most importantly, that she can’t fucking stand her. Gideon Nav is so grating that Harrow has no doubt she will be her undoing.</p>
  <p>	An insult amongst others, is that the persons Harrow thinks qualify as her friends take to Griddle immediately. There's Camilla of course, who holds no grudge against her, but Palamedes too seems to consider her the best addition to their group (Harrow refuses to even think about this situation as being anything but temporary), and Coronabeth has made the purpose of her life to drape herself over Gideon in increasingly ridiculous poses. Only Ianthe seems to consider her a vexation which would be comforting if she weren't herself constantly trying to get into Harrow’s pants. </p>
  <p>	Harrowhark Nonagesimus hates her life.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>💀</p>
</div><div>
  <p>	"Do you envisage being ready in the next century or is this a lost cause ?" Harrow asks one morning, lips pursed and patience lost.</p>
  <p>	"But I’m ready !" Griddle exclaims like what she has to say matters. "I've learned your dumb fighting forms, read your stupid history book and know my idiotic pleases and thank yous ! I’m even wearing face paint ! What more do you want !? Should I just become a different person !?"</p>
  <p>	"Yes actually," Harrow answers, rubbing her fingers on a knuckle hidden in her pocket, "that would be great."</p>
  <p>	"Yeah well that’s not going to happen, I can’t just be someone else ! And believe me, I’m as sorry as you are that I’m your only option !"</p>
  <p>	Harrow opens her mouth. To say what, she doesn’t know yet but the need to retort is making itself known quite pressingly. </p>
  <p>	"Nope," Gideon interrupts, going as far as lurching forward to slam her hand over Harrow’s mouth. "I’m talking. You’re listening. You never listen to me." </p>
  <p>	Harrow bites down hard on the fingers pressing against her, hard enough to break skin, the sweet metallic tang of blood filling her mouth.</p>
  <p>	"Sick bastard," Griddle groans, shoving her hard into her chair. "No. I’m still talking," she snaps before Harrow can really get her footing. "I fucking hate you. And you clearly fucking hate me. What’s the point of this ? What’s the point of helping you ? The Ninth House is dying ! And no one gives a flying shit ! What's the point of parading around like a depressing goth peacock ? No one will notice if you're not there !"</p>
  <p>	Harrow feels like she remains speechless for a myriad ; realistically it can’t be more than ten seconds, but to her it lasts an eternity. She blinks, Gideon's chest heaves up and down in frustration and a bead of sweat clears a clean path in her face paint.</p>
  <p>	"What," Harrow sputters regretfully, "what makes you say the Ninth is dying ? Who else knows about this ?"</p>
  <p>	"Um hello ?" Griddle says in a way that makes her want to strangle her and actually, she might just do that, "I grew up there ! I know it sucks balls ! I know there were no kids around and everyone is old as fuck ! The Ninth is dying and the entire universe is looking the other way because as was nicely exposed in your fucking history book, the Ninth House wasn’t build to last ! No one gives a shit O Holy Reverend Daughter ! No one cares."</p>
  <p>	"I care," Harrow says quite simply, willing herself to stare in the general direction of Gideon Nav’s eyes. "I care. But if you think I 'suck balls' as much as the rest of my House, then feel free to go. I won’t burden you with the company of a 'goth peacock' any longer."</p>
  <p>	"I’m not going anywhere ! Are you fucking daft ?"</p>
  <p>	Harrow blinks. She’s almost sure it’s a rhetorical question but somehow, it seems like she ought to answer. There’s a beat, two seconds during which she thinks that Griddle is about to confess that she too cares about the Ninth but disillusion comes hard and fast, like it always does.</p>
  <p>	"I can’t leave. I need the paperwork for the Cohort."</p>
  <p>	Harrowhark Nonagesimus, heir to the House of the Ninth, Reverend Daughter of Drearburh takes a full minute to herself, breathing in and out slowly and going through her usual prayers to calm herself down lest she fucking decks Gideon Nav. "Then we're starting again," when she can speaks without feeling the urge to unroot her teeth to stab Gideon, "from the top."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>💀</p>
</div><div>
  <p>	"Can I ask what we're doing in a pool at this hour of the night or are you going to threaten me with a vow of silence ? Because I don't want to alarm you, but I'm not the greatest swimmer."</p>
  <p>	"A vow of silence is actually a really good idea," Harrow mumbles under her breath. She fiddles with the clasp of her cloak for a moment before letting it drop off her shoulders, the material carelessly pooling at her feet. "You need to swear allegiance to me and I to you."</p>
  <p>	"What now ?"</p>
  <p>	"Otherwise," Harrow continues, sitting down and dipping a tentative toe in the lukewarm water, "all of this will have been for show."</p>
  <p>	"Isn’t it all for show though ?" Gideon asks, nonetheless undoing the clasp of her cloak and carefully folding it aside. "I don’t want to be your cavalier, you don’t want me to be your cavalier. Can we just go to the ball and get it over with ?"</p>
  <p>	"Griddle, this is important."</p>
  <p>	Gideon sighs. "Fine."</p>
  <p>	Since their little argument, Gideon Nav has been much less aggravating, she listens, follows orders, almost like she very remotely gives a fuck ; and quite frankly, Harrow doesn't know what to do with that. She too, would very much like to get it over with.</p>
  <p>	"Why in a pool though ? That wasn’t in your book."</p>
  <p>	"My House may be dying, but I will respect its tradition until my very last breath."</p>
  <p>	Gideon shrugs, takes a step forward, and in a remarkable show of idiocy that makes Harrow thoroughly regret every time she hasn't beaten her unconscious, she attempts to remove all water from the pool by jumping in it. Not for the first time since she’s met her, Harrowhark Nonagesimus wishes for death. </p>
  <p>	"You’re an idiot you know that ?" Harrow grumbles, exasperated by the very small tinge of fondness that slips into her voice.</p>
  <p>	"A Ninth House idiot," Griddle replies, attempting, and failing, to breaststroke closer to the edge. </p>
  <p>	Hoping to drown, Harrow lets herself drop from the side of the pool, only to resurface a moment later, eyes and throat burning from the chlorine, her shirt bunched up in Gideon's fist. </p>
  <p>	"Are you stupid ?" her soon to be cavalier asks, "is that what you are ? Stupid ?"</p>
  <p>	That, Harrow is pretty sure, is a rhetorical question, and so she doesn’t dignify it with an answer, choosing instead to shake herself out of Griddle's grasp and earning herself another mouthful of water. Her feet and arms kick haphazardly to keep her afloat and, forgoing dignity, she finds herself gripping tight at two offered biceps to keep her head out of the water. There's not enough space between their bodies and Gideon's wet shirt leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. She’s forgone her sunglasses for their bath and in the blue glow of the pool, her eyes take on a hypnotising butterscotch hue. A bid of water rolls all the way down her face, trickling on her nose and navigating past her parted lips. For a single extremely peculiar moment, Harrow thinks she's about to be kissed, and she hates every second of this interaction. </p>
  <p>	"So," Gideon says eventually. "What’s next ? Sepulchral breaststroke ? Cryptic chant ?"</p>
  <p>	"One flesh, one end."</p>
  <p>	"What ?"</p>
  <p>	"That’s what you have to say. One flesh, one end. Then I’ll repeat it and that’s all.</p>
  <p>	"Sounds stupid."</p>
  <p>	"Griddle."</p>
  <p>	Gideon screws her eyes shut for a long handful of seconds and when she opens them again, her gaze is so intense it makes Harrow want to throw up. "This is important to you ? Not just to the Ninth House, but to you ?"</p>
  <p>	Harrow nods, idly wondering why everything always has to be so complicated.</p>
  <p>	"Alright." Gideon clears her throat and her face takes on an unprecedented seriousness that makes the whole situation feels unnecessarily heavy. She looks down at her, and Harrow feels like she can't breathe. "One flesh, one end." A breath. "Bitch," she adds for good measure, something that Harrowhark is infinitely grateful for. </p>
  <p>	Gideon’s face flickers in the light ; for a moment, Harrow forgets to answer.</p>
  <p>	"So ? Say it loser."</p>
  <p>	Harrow sighs, sparing a thought for the Kindly Prince of Death and hoping He will keep an eye on this poorly crafted construct.</p>
  <p>	"One flesh, one end."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>💀</p>
</div><div>
  <p>	Unfortunately, Harrow has to admit that Gideon the Ninth does clean up nice. She's wearing something that can only be described as an old timey suit, probably second hand and dyed if she's to believe the dark brown polyester thread that holds it together, and she's thrown on a brand new black cloak with a skull clasp. If Harrowhark were to fall to the level of the girls fanning over her cavalier, she'd even say she looks dashing.</p>
  <p>	They match down to the tiniest detail. It should be a given as the Ninth always wear black, but Harrow was still expecting Griddle to screw her over at the last minute and show up in neon pink just for the hell of it. When she picked her up however, which was nice if unnecessary, Gideon was wearing all black and gifted her a tiny bone sculpted skull that matches hers and Harrow blushed embarrassingly for reasons totally out of her control.</p>
  <p>	They match, and they represent what's best, and frankly what's left, of the Ninth House, but Harrowhark still feels strangely inadequate in her own black garb ; onyx dress covered in black lace and a lighter cloak than her usual thick overcoat. Maybe it's because she actually complimented Gideon's outfit and the only reply she got was a strangled and somewhat mean, if not unusual, "thanks, you look like a sad bat." Nothing more has been said.</p>
  <p>	For how much she complained and raged over the past month, Gideon follows the rules to the letter, walking a perfect half step behind her, hand on her rapier and off-hand, they settled on knuckle knives, strapped to her belt. They make their way to the ballroom in silence, joined mid-way by Palamedes and Camilla, having abandoned their usual hooded sweaters in favour of dark grey suits, Palamedes' a bit more ill-fitting, then by Coronabeth, Ianthe and the dreadful Naberius Tern, all three clad in various shades of purple and all three wearing incredibly high, and probably impractical, heels. Maybe Harrow should have worn heels too, if only so her frail silhouette wouldn't have disappeared in the sea of bodies.</p>
  <p>	The opening ceremony of the ball is long and dreadful, which says something considering she's from the Ninth. Teacher leads them in an unending prayer before putting Harrow on the spot by asking the Reverend Daughter to conclude with words from the devout Black Vestals. Griddle supports her with a light hidden hand on the small of her back which is both completely unacceptable and the only thing holding her up.</p>
  <p>	Harrowhark really regrets not having taken a vow of silence.</p>
  <p>	This belated wish becomes more and more poignant as the evening goes on and she's forced to mingle, sharing bone theories with lesser minds and even trailing Lady Pent around the room for half an hour or so as she decides to introduce Harrow to people she deems unnecessary of knowing. All the while, Gideon remains half a step behind her, a discontent frown scrunching up her face paint as her eyes jump back and forth between the dancing bodies and the stage that has been set for ceremonial duelling.</p>
  <p>	"You should go," Harrow says eventually. "Have fun."</p>
  <p>	"Are you stupid ?" Gideon retorts in a surprisingly measured voice. "I'm your cavalier, your glorified bodyguard, I'm not leaving your side."</p>
  <p>	"I think it's reasonable to say I'm in no danger here," Harrow sighs.</p>
  <p>	"What if you choke on a peanut and die ?"</p>
  <p>	Harrow represses a chuckle, she refuses to give Griddle the satisfaction. "The only thing threatening my life here is boredom," she drawls. "Go Gideon."</p>
  <p>	She does not watch her walk away. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>💀</p>
</div><div>
  <p>	Gideon has been gone for all of five minutes, Harrow relegated to a corner to pick a strange raw meat off of salty crackers so she can eat them, when her thunderous voice rises above the assembly.</p>
  <p>	"Take that back you sick bastard !"</p>
  <p>	There's a beat, a long drawn out moment of silence during which Harrowhark wonders what she's ever done to the Necrolord Prime to deserve any of this ; then Ianthe's sickly yet strident voice covers the sudden hush running through the party goers. "I thought it was rather hilarious."</p>
  <p>	Gideon groans, honest to God groans, and Harrow starts rising from her seat. "Yeah well you've got a shit humour Third," her cavalier says, hand stilled halfway to her rapier. In the moment it takes her to glance back to check on her necromancer, Naberius Tern already has his pointed at her throat.</p>
  <p>	Harrow doesn't think she's ever moved so fast and she's highly conscious of the effort her stick-like legs have to produce to wade through the crowd. She needs to ask Gideon to show her how to do squats. She's raised two skeletons by the time she's at level with the others, and, hand extended forward, she says in her most sepulchral tone, the one she's practised all month for the sole sake of annoying Gideon. "Your cavalier, Princess of Ida, drew on my cavalier."</p>
  <p>	"Indeed," Ianthe replies, already sounding bored out of her mind. "I've always been curious about how you fight in the Ninth."</p>
  <p>	Harrow is a split second away from saying there is no way her cavalier will fight the Third cavalier, not that she doesn't trust Gideon to win, she just knows she'll most likely discard all weapons to punch him raw, when Gideon steps forward, draws her rapier and growls, "I'll show you how we fight motherfucker."</p>
  <p>	"Good," Naberius says in his squeaky unbearable voice, "then I issue a challenge to the Ninth. If you win, I'll take back what I say. If I win, I'm printing posters."</p>
  <p>	"Babs no," Corona finally intervenes, "you can't."</p>
  <p>	Harrow has half a mind of burying her under an army of skeletons for taking so long to step up but in the corner of her eye, she spies Camilla's hand on her back and she's not touching that minefield with a ten feet pole.</p>
  <p>	"Oh but he can," Ianthe drawls. "To the first touch," she adds, louder and to the room, dramatically pointing to the stage. "Calling for Naberius the Third !"</p>
  <p>	Harrow sighs. They're not getting out of that one. "Just don't kill him," she mumbles under her breath.</p>
  <p>	"Not making any promises," Gideon whispers back, already dropping her cloak and her jacket to strap her knuckle knives to her off-hand.</p>
  <p>	Of course.</p>
  <p>	"Calling for Gideon the Ninth !"</p>
  <p>	The two cavaliers meet in the centre of the stage and Naberius Tern bows low under Gideon's disgusted stare. Then, they turn sharply, take seven steps to the edge of the wooden planks and start moving almost too fast for Harrow's eyes to follow.</p>
  <p>	To his credit, Naberius Tern is incredible ; it pains Harrow to admit it but he's the epitome of a cavalier, moving fluidly, parrying without thought and dancing gracefully on his high heels like his rapier is his partner. But Gideon, God, Gideon is something else. She's raw strength where he is practise, brutality where he is delicacy, she's nothing like him, but oh so graceful in her own way. Harrow has never seen anything like this before, and sure, she's never taken much interest in duelling, but she has no doubt that Gideon Nav is one of a kind. She wonders what kind of fit she could perform with her longsword, the thought doubling down on her when she realises this rapier will be Gideon's undoing.</p>
  <p>	Harrow knows Gideon practised everyday, she was there for most of it, mostly to make sure this spawn of her House wouldn't embarrass her. She's good, astonishingly so, her body gliding sideway to avoid a strike while her off hand deflects a blow from Tern's with acute precision. She's good, bewilderingly so, but Naberius the Third was born with a rapier in his hands.</p>
  <p>	He strikes low, drawing his sword from the bottom to force her to parry from the top and at the very last second, he draws back to block with his off-hand, effectively trapping Gideon's rapier between the blades of his trident knife and shoving it out of her hand carelessly.</p>
  <p>	Gideon backs up, one step, then two more. Another one. She's at the edge of the stage.</p>
  <p>	Harrow braces herself for defeat ; Gideon punches Naberius square in the nose.</p>
  <p>	A nauseating crack fills the room as his nose breaks and Naberius Tern totters back, drops his weapon and bends in two, hands pressed to his face as he wails like a baby.</p>
  <p>	"Match to the Ninth," Lady Pent, who's apparently been standing here this whole time, calls.</p>
  <p>	Ianthe strides forward, teeth already bared, but Corona, stops her with a light hand on her shoulder. "It was to the first touch. She won fair and square," she says softly.</p>
  <p>	"She punched him !" Ianthe squeals, a ball of disgusting yellow fat springing from her fingers as she readies herself for a fight.</p>
  <p>	"That's not against the rules."</p>
  <p>	"Of course <i>you</i>'d know all about duelling rules," Ianthe spits, glaring at her sister with a seething sort of hatred that scares even Harrow.</p>
  <p>	She doesn't get involved though, because right when it seems like the sisters are about to behead each other, Gideon sheaths her rapier and jumps off stage, bowing ridiculously low.</p>
  <p>	"You're a reckless idiot," Harrow says, ire all but absent of her voice. "But I’ll admit you're good."</p>
  <p>	"Thank you O Ruler of the Endless Nights, thank you."</p>
  <p>	Harrow rolls her eyes so hard she sees the back of her own skull. "Come," she sighs. "I have some papers to sign for you."</p>
  <p>	Gideon however does not follow, and when Harrow turns back, she finds her still, hand offered palm up. "Dance with me first ?" she asks incongruously.</p>
  <p>	Like she's held in place by rigid skeletons, Harrow is rooted to the spot. "Are you serious ?"</p>
  <p>	"No I'm Gideon." She wiggles her fingers in invitation. "Indulge me please ? I just defended your honour."</p>
  <p>	"And I thank you for it," Harrow says. "Do try not to die for me please, the universe would be," she pauses, "much too different without you in it." Harrowhark's heart beats hard, making itself known like never before and idly, she wonders if she's dying. Nonetheless, she takes the offered hand and steps in Gideon's orbit. She attempts to stay at a reasonable distance but her cavalier draws her flush against her and takes the lead of an ancient waltz. Briefly, Harrow wonders where she learned how to dance but relegates the thought far far in her head in favour of asking another question. "What did Naberius even say ?"</p>
  <p>	"That you bone bones."</p>
  <p>	"What ?"</p>
  <p>	Harrow doesn't have time to be embarrassed by her shriek before Gideon leans towards her conspiratorially. "Do you though ? Or did you swear abstinence on the Locked Tomb ?"</p>
  <p>	Harrow chokes on air, barely represses a laugh and goes to slap her cavalier on the arm. Instead, her fingers close themselves around Gideon biceps and stay put against her terrible warmth. Ineffective against even herself, Harrow gives up, instead resting her head on a muscled shoulder. "Never change Griddle. Never change."</p>
  <p>	"I promise you, my Crepuscular Queen, that I will stay as awful as I am."</p>
  <p>	And then, Gideon Nav does the most inconceivable of things, and, after laying a big hand on her painted cheek, tilts her head up gently to kiss her on the brow.</p>
  <p>	Harrowhark Nonagesimus' heart skips a beat ; the Ninth House may live to see another day, but her own undoing is already well underway.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>💀</p>
</div><div>
  <p> <i>Gideon Nav was added to the chat</i></p>
  <p>
    <i>Gideon Nav changed her name to "Hot stuff"</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>Harrow changed Hot Stuff's name to "Griddle"</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>Griddle changed Ianthe's name to "Flesh bitch"</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>Griddle changed Corona's name to "The hotter twin"</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>Griddle changed Palamedes' name to "Doctor Sex Pal"</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>Griddle changed Camilla's name to "Swords &amp; Spreadshits"</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>Griddle changed Harrow's name to "Crepuscular Queen" </i>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <i></i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i></i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>Crepuscular Queen<br/>
I hate you.</i>
  </p>
</div><i>Griddle<br/>No you don't.<br/>Pretty sure you cannot conceive of a universe without me in it.<div><p>Crepuscular Queen<br/>
I completely fucking hate you. </p></div></i>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p></p><div>
  <p>Alternatively</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <i>Gideon Nav was added to the chat</i></p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <i>Gideon Nav changed her name to "Hot stuff"</i></p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <i>Harrow changed Hot Stuff's name to "Griddle"</i></p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <i>Griddle changed Camilla's name to "Been there done that"</i></p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <i>Griddle changed Harrow's name to "Currently doing that"</i></p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <i>Griddle changed Corona's name to "It happened once in a dream"</i></p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <i>Griddle changed Palamedes' name to "If it had to be a dude"</i></p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <i>Griddle changed Ianthe's name to "I’d rather open the Locked Tomb"</i><br/></p>
</div></blockquote></div></div>
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